


alone on thanksgiving? mad at your dad? read on...

by quakeriders



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Craigslist, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: Rhys wasn’t quite sure what had driven him to such lengths, but the thought of showing up  alone at his family’s thanksgiving dinner was more than he could handle. For the billionth time since he had seen the listing on craigslist, he wasn’t entirely sure if he hadn’t lost his mind.based onthis (very fandom famous) thanksgiving craigslist ad
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 123
Kudos: 201





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this waaaaaaay back in march, when I first started writing feysand fic. lmao, i can't believe I'm posting this..

Rhys wasn’t quite sure what had driven him to such lengths, but the thought of showing upalone at his family’s thanksgiving dinner was more than he could handle. For the billionth time since he had seen the listing on craigslist, he wasn’t entirely sure if he hadn’t lost his mind.

Cassian had suggested hiring a hooker for the day and Rhys had shut him down so fast that even Azriel had laughed himself hoarse. But what he had done instead wasn’t much better.

He wouldn’t be giving her money. No, she hadn’t asked for that. Just the meal and the opportunity to torment his extended family. And only if he was willing to take a couple of selfies. And he wasn’t sure why that had intrigued him enough to call her, but it had.

So now, here he was; pacing, trying not to look at his watch and waiting for his _girlfriend_ to arrive.

He heard the sound of heels clicking on the pavement before anything else. Rhys turned and the sight before him knocked the breath out of his lungs. The girl before him was beautiful. Stunning, really. With light brown hair, curled softly over her bare shoulders and blue-grey eyes ringed with dark, long lashes. Her lips were full and painted a bright red.

But her attire was an entirely different story.

She was wearing a tight leopard print dress so short that he was sure, if he walked around to check, it would barely cover her ass. Her long legs were bare save for the shiny red pumps on her feet. The clutch in her hand was made from the same material.

"Rhysand, I assume." She said, a nervous smile on her lips.

He swallowed, his eyes trailing back up her body until he found her eyes again. "Please, call me Rhys."

"I’m Feyre. Any preferences for pet names?" She asked, as he gestured towards his car.

Rhys shrugged, holding the door open for her. She slid into the car gracefully and Rhys was surprised she hadn’t flashed him — or anyone on the street for that matter. A couple people had stopped to look at her. Rhys didn’t blame them. She was beautiful, but that dress— He shut the door and walked towards the driver’s side.

By the time Rhys was seated in the car, Feyre was rummaging in her clutch. She fished out her phone and gave him a dazzling smile. "You said you were okay with selfies, right?"

He nodded and she leaned close to him, holding the phone in such an angle that the lace trimmings of her red bra could be seen underneath the dress. She angled her head so that her lips almost touched his cheek and snapped a picture.

"What are those for exactly?" He asked, somehow doubting that it was some weird kink where she was sending them to her boyfriend, but wanting to know nonetheless.

She flashed him another dazzling smile and said, "I’m sending them to my eldest sister."

At his arched brow, she added with a wink, "We don’t get along and it’s not just your family I’m going to torture today."

He chuckled. She was ruthless. And had a sense of humor. But that much, he had already gleaned from her offer.

He watched as she tapped a short message into her phone, attached the picture and sent it off.

"Alright, before we do this," Feyre said, her tone business-like and her eyes fierce. "A couple of ground rules. First: No non-consensual touching. You can touch everything that’s exposed, but no wandering hands without my permission. Tell me with how much you’re comfortable with and I’ll stick to that."

He nodded once, raising his hands in submission. "If you like something you see, darling, you can touch it." He tried for his usual sultry voice, but it felt hollow in his ears. She must have bought it, though, since her eyes roamed over his body.

"There’s plenty." She said, almost briskly. "Second: You tell me which people I should focus on the most and I’ll make their life a living hell."

He grinned at that, unable to help himself. "There are like four people I like at that dinner, and I wouldn’t mind you messing with them either.But I’ll point out the worst offenders once we get there."

She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. "Third: This is strictly professional. Don’t get all mushy on me and expect me to stick around after today."

"Why, darling, are you telling me that under no circumstances am I allowed to fall in love with you?" And this time, he managed the tone flawlessly and the blush that rose in her cheeks was mesmerising.

"Yeah, it sounds better in the movies, I guess. Doesn’t it?" She asked a bit sheepishly.

"I guess it does."

And with that they took off towards the hell that awaited them at his parents house.

—

Feyre let out a low whistle as they drove up to the house.

"What was your last name again?" She asked the guy sitting next to her, wondering if he was some sort of prince.

"I didn’t tell you, but you might have heard of it in passing. Night."

Feyre gaped. "As in _Senator_ Night? Those Nights?"

"He happens to be my father." Rhys said drily.

Holy fuck. She was dressed up like a cheap whore to attend a senator’s thanksgiving dinner. On the arm of his freaking son. Feyre just stared at him, her mind desperately trying to catch up.

This fight with Nesta had definitely gotten out of hand. Sighing, she shook the shock off and opened her clutch.

"Is that a deal-breaker?" He asked, looking at her furrowed brows.

She found what she was looking for and unwrapped the pink bubblegum and popped it into her mouth. "Nope. But I can’t wait for the food."

He seemed to relax and when Feyre chewed her gum and made a bubble and blew it, he let out a small chuckle. "My family is going to loose their minds."

"That’s the idea, babe." She told him.

"If at any point this becomes too much, say the word and we’ll leave, okay?" He told her and the way his eyes met hers, Feyre felt her insides turn into mush.

Well damn. The guy was too handsome for his own good. How the hell had he not managed to find an actual date?

But she nodded and then he slipped out of his seat and walked around the car to open the door for her. Like a proper gentleman.

Rhys held out his arm for her and she wrapped hers around it and they walked up to the front door.

He seemed to take a couple of deep breaths, before he finally rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by a woman with dark skin and the small, respectful nod she gave him, told Feyre enough about her position.

"Welcome home, Mr. Night." She said and even though she didn’t whisper, it felt like that to Feyre. Like the woman might as well be a figment of her imagination.

"Nuala, it’s been a while." Rhys greeted her, with a warm smile.

They stepped into a foyer that was twice the size of Feyre’s apartment. The floors were made of white marble and there was a sweeping staircase on one side, and a couple of double doors of heavy oak lined the walls. The handles were gold and Feyre wondered if it wasn’t just painted but actual, literal gold.

Soft music flooded from one of the open doors and she could hear low voices chattering. Rhys guided her towards the sounds and she couldn’t help it, her fingers tightened around his arms to steady herself.

They passed underneath a crystal chandelier so big, that if it had fallen right then, it would have smashed them both. Then she saw the crowd gathered in the next room.

—

Rhys let his eyes sweep over the gathered crowd. He spotted Mor, Azriel and Cassian by the fireplace. Mor was clutching her wine glass tightly and glaring at someone. He followed her gaze and found none other than her father, Keir. He was sneering about something, as he always did. His wife was half a step behind him, but it was one of his sons that he spoke to.

His own father was lounging on a sofa, a glass of wine in his hand and a small crowd of cousins were listening to his every word. He couldn’t spot his mother anywhere and neither did he see his sister.

Alright then, time to get this over with. He gently pulled Feyre along and approached his father. Before they had taken a couple of steps however, the man in question spotted them.

"Showtime, darling." He whispered, barely loud enough for his own ears, but by the way Feyre’s spine straightened, he knew she had heard him.

His father got on his feet, with a lazy grace that had made him so popular with the voters. A charming smile began forming on his lips, but froze when his eyes slid over to his date.

Rhys could see how they travelled down her body and back up. And suddenly his expression looked a lot more like that of his brother, Keir.

Rhys had to suppress a smile at that. "Father."

"Rhysand." He approached them, his lips pursing. "Who is your _friend_?" He practically spat out the last word.

But it was Feyre who replied. "Oh, it’s such an honour to meet you, Senator. I’m Rhys’ girlfriend, Feyre, and he has told me so much about you." Her words were perfectly polite, but she almost drawled each and every word and her tone was high-pitched. So unlike her actual voice.

Rhys tried not to cringe, or grin. He didn’t know which one he wanted to do more. Well, grinning, definitely. Because, impossibly, his father looked like he might faint then and there.

Then - even Rhys was shocked by it - Feyre let go of him and took a bouncy step towards his father, drawing his eyes to her breasts and gave him a sound kiss on the cheek. She stayed close to him for a little while longer, whispering something in his ear and Rhys could have sworn that his father swallowed hard as his cheeks flushed a bright red.

As fast as it had been, Feyre was back beside him, wrapping her arm firmly around his and winking - actually, winking at his father.

He tried to hide his chuckle behind a cough but his father didn’t even look at him. "Enjoy the party then." His father stammered and ungracefully excused himself.

Rhys watched wide-eyed as his father left the room. He saw a bright red stain on his cheek from Feyre’s lipstick.

He could feel eyes on them, but Rhys leaned down to whisper into her ear. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father like that. What exactly did you say to him?"

She turned to look at him and her grin was positively wicked. "I told him that I always wanted to have a threesome with a father and son and if he was half as well endowed as you, then I would let him do whatever he wanted with me right here in front of everyone."

Rhys couldn’t hold back his laughter. He threw his head back and covered his mouth with his free hand. "Holy shit."

"What’s so funny?"

Rhys stopped laughing and saw that Cassian had approached them, eyeing Feyre closely. Rhys gave him a little smile, still amused to no end, and introduced them. "Cassian, this is Feyre, my _girlfriend_. Feyre, this is Cassian, a general pain in my ass."

Feyre gave him a little look as if asking about how much she should fuck with him. Rhys gave a little shake of his head and she turned back to Cassian. "Pleasure to meet you, general pain in the ass."

They shook hands and Cassian looked at him, "So, you decided to follow my advice." He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to indicate Feyre and her whole outfit.

"No, it’s not like that." He said simply, but Cassian just raised his eyebrows further.

—

Whatever staring contest was happening between the two men, Feyre didn’t follow. She had gleaned enough from their few words, that Cassian might be one of his friends and that she didn’t need to lay it on so thick with him.

But the man’s tone ruffled her feathers. And Feyre had a general idea of what exactly he though she was.

"Judging by the fact that you’re here alone, I don’t think you’re in any position to give Rhys any advice regarding women."

Rhys sucked in a little breath that she had already learned was him trying to stifle his amusement but Cassian didn’t hide his.

His grin widened and he shook his head a little, chuckling. "I like her."

And as if that was a silent cue for them, he turned and walked back towards the fireplace where he had come from. Rhys pulled her along and she followed.

They approached two other people. One of them looked similar enough in colouring to Cassian and Rhys, but the woman was a sight to behold. Golden hair and skin, long legs and a face so beautiful that Feyre wanted to paint her. Her lips were full and painted almost the same shade of red as Feyre’s own.

The woman was wearing a red dress that was a little more modest than Feyre’s leopard print monstrosity, that she had to pull down after every few steps to avoid showing everyone in the room her underwear.

"This is Mor. And that’s Azriel." Cassian said, pointed at them in turn. "We’re the only people who put up with Rhys’ bullshit around here. Maybe with the exception of his baby sister and his mother."

Ah, the handful of people he had mentioned then. She smiled at them, a little more warmly than that seductive smirk she had given Rhys’ father. "Nice to meet you. I’m Feyre."

"My girlfriend." Rhys clarified and Mor’s brown eyes widened. She took another look at Feyre and then wrapped her in a tight, one-armed hug. "Whatever you did to my uncle, please, _please_ do it to my father next. I wanna see that bastard squirm."

"You’re related?" Feyre asked, looking from her to Rhys and back. Aside from their ridiculously perfect looks, there was nothing similar about them.

"Yeah, Mor is my favourite cousin." Rhys said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "No, actually, she’s the only cousin of mine that I actually like."

She huffed out a little breath and let go of Feyre. Then Mor motioned for a waiter that was standing against the wall and held out her glass for a refill. Rhys took two glasses of wine and held one out for her.

She took it, thanking him softly and took a sip. Well, fuck. That was some nice wine. Not at all like her usual - the cheapest, carton-boxed wine at the store. She made an appreciative noise low in her throat and sipped again.

"Ah, a wine lover, she might be my soul mate." Mor sighed happily and leaned against the back of an armchair. "Careful, Rhys, or might steal her from you."

Feyre gave her a deliberate once over, her eyes getting stuck at her generous curves and the tilt of her lips. "I don’t think I would mind that much."

Rhys gave her an incredulous look. "I would."

They laughed again and Feyre thought this might evening might not turn out to be that bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to see more of this shitfest, let me know bc I have about 4k more words written but don't know if its worth the effort to finish this...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some canon references, some steamy stuff, more hijinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally posted ch 3 instead of 2, so if you read that and were confused.. sorry! its fixed now.

Rhys was surprisingly relaxed as he and his fake date chatted with his friends. Feyre had relaxed her grip on his arm, but every now and then, she would trace the lines of his muscles and look at him like she was thinking about devouring him whole. He knew that it was for the benefit of any onlookers, but she was starting to get along fine with his best friends.

Actually, her and Mor were like a house on fire. He wasn’t really sure what to make of their whispered conversations every now and then.

But she occasionally gave Cassian such snarky comebacks that both him and his best friend fought the urge to double over in laughter.

She was perfect.

Wait.

_Oh, no._

Rhys finished his glass of wine and motioned for the waiter to get a refill. Just then, the music stopped and his father returned. His mother was on his arm, looking lovely in a dark blue dress. He saw his sister dart out from behind them and flash him a wicked little smirk.

She was sixteen years old, but always had a look on her face that promised trouble. He adored her. Her dress was a little more conservative than Mor’s but Rhys was surprised to find that with every passing day, she was looking more like a woman and less like a child.

He wasn’t sure what his father had in store for her future, but Rhys had promised himself long ago that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. If his father and Keir tried to pull the same bullshit they had done with Mor, he would get her away from them before they had any idea what he was planning on doing.

She blended into the crowd and Rhys watched as she tried sneaking glances towards one of the waiters and his tray of wine. She flashed him another smirk, telling him that she was aware of his prying eyes and clasped her hands behind her back dutifully.

Then his father drew everyone’s attention by lightly tapping the side of his glass. Oh great, another one of his speeches. Still, Rhys was glad to see that when his eyes swept over the room, he seemed to be skipping over him and Feyre.

"It is my pleasure to be joined by my family on this special holiday. I am grateful for all your support and love—"

His father droned on about something or another, but Rhys barely paid him any attention. He had listened to his father’s pretty speeches for all his life. His father was a senator, he knew what people wanted to hear from him. And he didn’t let his mask fall, not even in their home.

They raised their glasses and Rhys rolled his eyes as he drank. However Feyre was biting the bottom of her lip, seemingly deep in thought. Placing his glass on the nearest flat surface around him, he gently cupped her chin and turned her face to him.

"Everything alright?" He asked softly, trying not to startle her.

Slowly, her eyes focussed on him. Her teeth let go of her lip and Rhys fought the urge to lean in and capture them with his own.

"Yeah, just strategising." She whispered back and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his jaw.

"Oi."

They sprang apart and Rhys saw that his sister was standing before them, hands on her hips. "Stop making out, it’s gross."

Feyre let out a little giggle and took her in. "You must be Rhys’ sister."

"I am." She replied, puffing out her chest. "And who are you?"

"His girlfriend." Feyre replied, matching his sister’s tone.

"Bullshit." She said and someone made a startled sound behind them.

"Layla, watch your language." His mother said from behind them.

His sister rolled her eyes so hard that Rhys chuckled.

"And do not speak to our guests like that." Their mother added and then she was looking right at him, a bright smile on her face. "Rhysand."

He let go of Feyre and placed a kiss on each one of her cheeks. "Hello, mom."

She held his face in hers for a moment, drinking him in and smiling brightly. "I thought you might not come this year."

His mother was still beautiful despite her age, even with her eyes twinkling with unshed tears and a bright smile on her lips. He gently wrapped his arms around her and they hugged for a little while.

Then they let go of each other and Rhys remembered that he had someone to introduce. And for the first time, he felt a little ashamed for what he was doing. "Mother, this is Feyre." He said, his voice low.

But to his surprise, Feyre had a soft, apologetic look on her face as well. It was remarkable how she was able to read his thoughts and moods so easily. And when she shook his mother’s hand, her tone was respectful.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Night."

"Oh, please, call me Zahra." His mother said, taking in Feyre’s appearance. Her brows were furrowed, but her smile was still brilliant. "I don’t much care for formality."

—

His mother wasn’t what Feyre had imagined. And the way he had greeted her, told her enough about how much he loved her, that Feyre couldn’t bring herself to put on that air of sultriness. Instead, she greeted her like she would greet anyone in her day to day life and maybe, she acted a little more respectful.

The woman looked at her son with so much love, that Feyre’s chest ached. Her mother had never looked at her like that — not once. Nesta and Elain, maybe, but even towards them there had been a coldness and distance between her and the world.

Feyre swallowed her jealously and complimented Zahra on her beautiful home.

And as if Rhys’ mother had seen something she approved of, despite the slutty dress, she gave a slight nod to herself and excused herself to inquire about the state of the dinner.

"She likes you." Rhys said, when his mother had disappeared and it was only them and his sister again.

His sister rolled her eyes again and Feyre found her so amusing that she brushed her hair over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes at Rhys. "What’s not to like, babe?"

"Ugh." Layla said, making gagging sounds. "If you’re going to start making out again, please go upstairs."

Then Mor was beside her, draping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and whispering softly, "C’mon, little one. If you behave I might even slip you some wine."

Rhys spluttered at that, but Mor gave him a stern glance and he was silenced.

A booming voice sounded over Mor’s shoulder and she flinched. "Rhysand. How lucky for us mortals to be graced by your presence." The man looked so much like Mor, that Feyre was sure that it must be her father.

Mor paled and her back straightened. And without another word to either of them, she pulled Layla away and they headed towards the far end of the room.

Trying to ignore her curiosity, Feyre looked back at the approaching man.

Rhys, too, had straightened beside her and entwined their fingers. She wasn’t sure if he was aware of what he was doing, because his whole attention was directed towards the man who now stood before them.

Feyre let that sultry smile bloom on her face and leaned into Rhys’ side. She felt her dress ride up a little and fought the urge to pull it down.

"Keir." Rhys said, his voice low and a shiver went down her spine at the threat of violence in his tone. His fingers tightened around hers, his thumb circling softly against her skin and she relaxed. "I’m glad you appreciate my company. Shame, I can’t say the same about yours."

"Oh, come now, nephew. Is that any way to speak to your favourite uncle?" Keir sneered and Feyre decided that she really did not like the man.

"You’re my only uncle." Rhys stated calmly. "And you’re far from being my favourite anything."

Keir chuckled darkly. "Where are you manners, boy? Won’t you introduce me to your little friend." And then his eyes were on her and Feyre wanted to recoil from what she saw in his eyes. They were the same shade as Mor’s, but where her eyes were filled with kindness, his were void of any feeling. "It’s quite the statement, bringing a whore to such an event."

Feyre let out a little growl, surprising even herself. Rhys’ thumb stilled, and again that that dangerous hint was in his voice. "How ironic for you to speak of manners and then insult my guest."

Keir’s smile was a terrible thing. Again, with his eyes devoid of amusement, he focused on her. "What’s your name then, girl?"

Breathing through her nose, Feyre calmed her temper enough to speak, trying to imitate Rhys’ voice, "Don’t you dare speak to me like that."

His eyes glazed over with something Feyre couldn’t name and he looked back at Rhys. "You should put a leash on that bitch."

And again, Feyre didn’t know what came over her, but she said, "Maybe, I’ll put a leash on you."

Rhys chuckled coldly and Keir looked taken aback. He stared at the two of them for a while, before muttering something under his breath and then stalked off without another word.

"Where have you been all my life, darling?" Rhys said finally, his tone immensely amused, but there was still a hint of fury in his remarkable eyes.

She shrugged, relaxing now that Keir had left them. "I’m here now, aren’t I?"

They chuckled, looking at each other for a long while afterwards. Something in his eyes changed and Feyre’s stomach clenched. Finally, his mother called for attention and announced that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes and that they should slowly head towards the dining room.

—

"Can we get some fresh air before dinner?" Feyre asked him, her tone suggestive and bit her lower lip. A few of his cousins, who were standing close enough, looked scandalised.

Playing along, he nodded and lead her towards the patio. Mercifully it was empty and Feyre leaned against a pillar, eyes trailing over the vast back garden. Again, she let out a low whistle. "Maybe I should’ve gone into politics." She muttered under her breath and Rhys chuckled.

"My father actually inherited most of it." He told her, standing beside her and playing with the rim of his wine glass. "And the rest is from before my father became a senator."

"Oh." She said softly, sipping from her own wine. "Well, then whatever it is that he’s doing, that might be right way to go." And then she seemed to collect herself and turned to face him, her back against the pillar.

"I’m afraid I don’t know much about your father and his political leaning." She told him, her tone once more business-like. "Any pointers?"

He looked back over the grounds. "He’s a democrat. But has many conservative leanings. He used to get along quite well with the republicans before Trump happened."

She nodded, taking another sip. "So, not a fan of our esteemed president then?" He looked at her then and the glint in her eyes made something spark in his chest.

"No, not at all."

"Perfect." Feyre purred and Rhys wanted nothing more than to press his body flush against hers and kiss her until she purred his name like that.

She must have seen the desire in his eyes, because she reached for his glass and placed both his and hers on the railing beside them. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

"You can kiss me, you know." She murmured against his jaw and Rhys let out a low groan. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed her against the pillar until they were touching everywhere.

He cupped her face, tilting her head back until their lips were almost touching. He could feel her breath fanning over his face and when her eyes fells shut, he softly brushed a kiss to her lips.

Her fingers found their way into his hair and Feyre let out a small moan when he pushed his tongue into her mouth. His hands slid down her body, finding her hips, fingers digging in her soft curves.

And when she pressed even closer to him and tugged on his hair, every thought went out of his head. His world narrowed to where their bodies touched and he wanted more.

Rhys’ hands slid down her hips and he let out a growl when he felt her bare skin. Her dress was so short that he could feel the curve of her ass and he dug his fingers in deep, delighted by the sounds she made into his mouth.

Feyre’s hands traveled down his neck, nails lightly scratching over his skin and it drove him crazy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this turned on and he was about to damn everything and lift her up and fuck her against the pillar right then and there, when someone coughed loudly.

They froze, then sprang apart.

Feyre pulled her dress down and Rhys ran a hand through his hair to stop his hands from going back to her.

Azriel was looking half amused, half disappointed, his arms crossed over his chest. "Really, Rhys?" He asked and then a slow grin spread over his face. "Lipstick suits you."

Looking down at Feyre, he saw that the paint on her lips was smeared and by the way she was holding back a grin, he knew that most of it was smeared all over the lower half of his face.

"Maybe you two should get freshened up before joining us in the dining room." Azriel suggested in a calm tone, but Rhys could hear the amusement lingering there.

"Good idea." Feyre said, her chest still raising and falling as she caught her breath. "Wouldn’t want to scandalise your father."

Oh, whatever she had planned, Rhys knew it would be good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> political discussions. feyre's being a little shit, rhys loves it, his father does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: some political debates as a means to mess with rhys’ dad. also I wrote this way back in march, so they might not be the most up to date topics but still relevant lmao

Rhys showed her to a washing room and in silence both of them cleaned up the mess her lipstick had made on both their faces. Then Feyre reapplied a generous amount of it back onto her lips. She ran a hand through her hair, loosening the curls and bringing back some volume to them.

Aware that Rhys was watching her through the mirror, she straightened her bra, pushing her breasts up and winked. He chuckled, shaking his head. Then she pulled her dress a little further down and turned to look at him.

"Good?" She asked, a coy smile on her lips.

"You’re perfect." He told her, his tone so earnest that she blushed.

Fuck. What had she gotten herself into. That kiss on the patio was one of the best kisses she ever had and whenever she looked back at his lips, she wanted them back on hers. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Before we go, I need another picture." She told him, trying to calm herself down.

She wrapped herself around him, snapping the picture through the floor-length mirror. With his arms wrapped around her, hands digging into her lower back like that, Feyre was sure Nesta would grind her teeth until her jaw ached.

As she sent the picture off to her sister, adding the message: _He’s being a perfect gentleman. Even asked me if I wanted to use a condom. Said no, of course._

Rhys waited for her to finish up, looking mildly curious but she brushed him off. He held out his arm for her and she took it, holding on tightly. It was becoming second nature to press her side into his and let him lead her towards the hell that was his family.

The dining room was on the other side of the foyer and Feyre was sure it was almost as big as the sitting room. The table was made from the same wood as the double doors and decorated so opulently that she wouldn’t have been surprised if the freaking queen of England was sitting amongst them.

Candle holders from what looked to be gold again were spaced out evenly over the ivory linen. The plates were white but trimmed with golden decorations. She felt very out of place and most of the guests seemed to share that sentiment.

A few men, who looked so much like Mor that they had to be her siblings, looked at her with open disdain. Their father however ignored her. Rhys’ own father was standing at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on them.

Rhys’ friends were closest to them and Feyre wanted to join them at the other end of the table, but Rhys’ father called out to his son. "You and your friend should come sit with us."

Nodding dutifully, they walked up to the other end of the table and to her surprise, his friends followed them. It seemed that wherever Rhys went, they followed.

Zahra sat on her husband’s left, with their daughter in the seat next to her. His father gestured for Rhys to take the spot on his other side, Feyre sat down next to him. Mor took the seat next to Layla. Azriel sat down next to Feyre, while Cassian took the seat next to Mor.

Keir sat down at the other end of the table, eye to eye with his brother. His own wife and sons around him. Feyre wondered briefly, why exactly Mor would choose this end of the table when her whole family was at the other end.

But the way she was angling her body towards Layla told Feyre enough. She herself didn’t get along with her family, so she shouldn’t be surprised about the bad blood between someone so joyful and bright as Mor and that monster of a father she had.

The first course consisted of a soup that Feyre couldn’t identify and salads that were so colourful that she honestly didn’t know how they could eat more than one course. The waiters were quick and efficient as they poured their drinks and whenever someone took a couple sips, they were back to refill the glasses.

It was a weird experience, but Feyre was used to feeling out of her depth. So, she tried the soup, found that it wasn’t as bad as she thought and just ate.

"Tell us about yourself, Feyre." Zahra said after a couple minutes had passed and the conversation had paused for a breath.

Feyre swallowed her bite and decided to go with the truth. At least some of the truth. "I am an artist."

Rhys’ father scoffed, so quietly that she might have missed it, if she wasn’t sitting two seats down from him.

"Oh, how wonderful." Rhys’ mother said, looking genuinely impressed. "What kind of art do you make?"

"Paint, mostly." Feyre said, taking a small sip of her wine. "I tried out a few different things, but I always come back to painting."

"It’s not much of a profession, is it?" Rhys’ father cut in.

She leaned forward in her seat a little, looking around Rhys who was politely listening. "Oh, no. I don’t sell my art. It’s more of a hobby. I do it in my spare time."

"And what do you do for work then?" He pressed. Feyre knew what he expected and she couldn’t help herself, she smirked a little.

"I’m a dancer. Although, it might be a little inappropriate as dinner conversation."

Cassian snorted into his soup and even Mor was grinning. Rhys’ leg jerked into hers and she bit back a smile of her own. Instead, she went on, "It’s how Rhys and I met actually. Two weeks ago at one of my shows."

Feyre didn’t dare looking at his mother, keeping her eyes fixed on the senator. His eyes narrowed a little, but he let the subject drop. Clearly, he didn’t want to know what kind of nightly entertainment his son was enjoying.

"But enough about me," Feyre said, opening her eyes further and looking a little awed. "I’ve never talked to a senator. Can you tell me a little about your job. It must be so exciting."

That seemed to do the trick. Rhys’ father launched into a monologue about legislature he was trying to push through and across from her Layla’s eyes glazed over with boredom. But Feyre waited, ready to pounce. With each word, she leaned a little closer, until Rhys’ back was fully against the chair and she leaning over him to look at his father.

"But of course the president keeps insisting on building that damn wall and his administration won’t take no for an answer." He said, his face a little flushed.

Fully aware that she was almost sitting in the lap of a brown man, she leaned back against his chest and swirled the wine in her glass a little. "Well, I think Trump might have a point about that."

Rhys’ father stopped in his tracks, eyes fixing on her. Rhys snaked an arm around her to keep her from slipping. And she said, "He’s just trying to make America great again."

"Ah." His father said, leaning back in his chair. "So, you’re one of those."

Feyre wasn’t exactly sure that it was very senatorial of him to speak to a potential voter like that, but she was immensely amused. Rhys seemed to be enjoying himself as well.

She dared a quick glance towards Zahra, only to find her smiling faintly behind her glass. Then she looked back at Rhys’ father and with more bravado than before, she said, "He’s just trying to protect us hard working Americans from loosing our jobs to those illegal immigrants. You can’t possibly be against that."

A vein in his forehead became more prominent as he stared at Feyre. "Didn’t you just say that you’re a dancer? I hardly doubt that people who come to this country to seek refuge would be interested in a job like that."

Oh, she had gotten under his skin alright.

"My field of work is far more competitive than you might think. Do you know how many immigrant girls have replaced my friends from college? And they barely understand enough English to understand what their customers want from them."

Holy fuck. She was going to hell for that. Even speaking the words, she felt like the worst kind of person. But when the senator bristled and that vein on his forehead began pulsing, she knew she had him.

"I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand the finer details of immigration." He gritted through his teeth. "And a wall like that wouldn’t stop strippers coming into this country. Likely it would increase human trafficking cases and soon you would be out of a job as well."

Hook. Line. And sinker. She pouted a little and then placed her hand on Rhys’ chest. "Well, then I am lucky to have found a man who will provide for me."

His chest shook beneath her in silent laughter and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from joining him.

"I thought you have known each other for two weeks."

"Yes, father." Rhys said, his other hand coming up to wrap around her and pulled her more firmly into his lap. "But I already know that I never want to be without Feyre ever again. I brought her here today to introduce you, before I propose to her."

His father froze. Cheeks flushed, vein ready to pop, he threw his napkin onto the table and got to his feet. "My only son will not get married to a whore." And with that he left the room.

Zahra apologised to her guests but told them to resume their dinner.

Rhys’ lips were against the shell of her ear, when his whispered, "You wicked little thing."

She shivered, smiling and settling more comfortably into his lap. Then she looked at his mother. "I apologise for that. But I just love your son so much."

She let out a sigh that told Feyre she knew exactly what game they were playing. "Oh, you don’t have to apologise." Then she flicked her eyes to her son and added, "You better go after him and get him back here."

"Do I have to?"

Feyre turned to look at him. He sounded like a child and indeed, he was pouting at his mother. Her heart ached at the sight of him like that and before thinking about what she was doing, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his jaw.

Seeing the red stain she left behind, she lifted her hand to gently rub it off. They eyes met and a spark of electricity coursed through her body.

—

Rhys was trying so hard to stop himself from bursting out into laughter. By the way Cassian and Mor had stopped eating and were breathing very carefully through their noses, he knew that they felt the same way. And Layla, she looked at Feyre with her mouth open, eyes sparkling with joy.

Only Azriel was still eating his soup, looking almost bored.

His mother however looked slightly disapproving. She had figured them out the moment Feyre had slipped into his lap and had been wavering between exasperation and amusement ever since.

Rhys suspected that she enjoyed watching her husband being put through his paces. Maybe she would have picked a better time than the thanksgiving dinner though.

Either way, Rhys gently eased Feyre back into her own chair and pressed a kiss to her temple and said, "I’ll be right back, darling."

Then he took off to bring his father back to the table. He had a feeling Feyre was just getting started.

Predictably, his father was in his office and when Rhys entered he whirled around and glared at him. "You’re a disgrace to this family, Rhysand."

Rhys slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorway. "I know, father. But didn’t you marry for love?"

His father just glared at him.

"Speaking about the woman you love," Rhys added hastily before things could get any worse. "She wants you back at the table."

That seemed to deflate him. "Keep your woman in check." Was the only warning he got, before they headed back.

They caught the end of a story Feyre was telling his family. "So, then I told the officer that I’d blow him if he dropped the charges and let me go." She was saying to one of Mor’s brothers. "Needless to say, we both got off that night. If you know what I mean." She finished with a wink and Keir looked like he might say something. But it was Cassian, who threw his head back and laughed.

"Ah, Senator Night." Feyre said, looking earnest. "I don’t think when it comes to politics we see eye to eye, but we’re practically family now, so we should try and get along, shouldn’t we?"

His father gave her curt nod and took his seat at the head of the table.

To Rhys’ surprise, Feyre got to her feet and raised her glass. "I’d like to make a toast." Her dress had ridden up so high, that it looked more like a top and red lace was peeking out. Rhys gently adjusted her dress and she gave him a wink. "Thanks, babe."

When the table quieted for her toast, Feyre cleared her throat. "The last time I sat down for a thanksgiving dinner was when I was in juvie."

Someone coughed to hide a laugh. Cassian looked like he was having the time of his life. Or like he might be falling in love with Feyre.

If Rhys was being honest, he thought he was falling in love with her, too.

"But I wanted to thank you all for having me and accepting me into the family with open arms. I am grateful for my job, for my new family and above all, I’m grateful for my baby-boo, Rhysie-poo." At that she turned to look at him with wide eyes.

Everyone lifted their glass and drank, but Feyre leaned down, kissed him right on the lips. Out of reflex, Rhys wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

Someone coughed a little louder this time and when they stopped kissing, Rhys looked around Feyre to realise that she was flashing the rest of the table. Her ass was practically in Azriel’s face.

Cassian, seeing his friend’s face howled and Mor, too, was laughing.

The rest of the family looked like they were torn between discomfort and disbelief. Rhys had never brought a girl home before and the first one was something neither of them had seen coming.

Feyre slid back into her seat and smiled sweetly at everyone. "So, when do we get to eat the turkey?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feyre talks about her parents, sees rhys' childhood bedroom and they have a heart to heart of sorts

Feyre was about to burst.

She didn’t want to look down at her stomach, especially since the dress she was wearing was so tight, everything would be on display.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from eating.

Not the turkey. Not the mashed potatoes drenched in liberal amounts of gravy. Or the cranberry sauce. She briefly considered taking photos of everything to send to Nesta but decided against it. She didn’t want her eldest sister to think that the guy she was with had a respectable family.

Let her stew and rage. She deserved it.

Once the drained her glass of wine, she tried to be discreet until she remembered why she was here. So, instead, Feyre leaned back in her seat, dabbing a napkin to her mouth and burped softly, but still loud enough for her table companions to hear.

"Dear lord, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything this good." She proclaimed afterward, patting her stomach lovingly.

Cassian, who sat across from her, was grinning like Christmas had come early and Feyre couldn’t help but wink at him.

Rhys’ hand gently squeezed her knee and he gave her a wry smile.

His father had apparently decided to ignore her. At least, to the best of his abilities. Still, she could see the strain on his face as he avoided looking at her.

"If you think this is good, just wait until Christmas." Layla said. Feyre had noticed her sneaking sips from Mor’s glass of wine when she thought nobody was looking. Still, the slightly flushed cheeks should have been indication enough.

Feyre supposed with her parents being so focused on either paying attention to or ignoring Feyre completely, they hadn’t noticed that their very underage daughter had been sipping on wine throughout dinner.

And Feyre wasn’t sure if the girl had figured out what Rhys and her were doing, but she couldn’t help but like her. Feyre flashed her a quick smile, turning to Rhys and spoke in a sweet voice, "I rather hoped we could visit my dad for Christmas."

"Can’t we do both?" Rhys asked, clearly trying to play along but not getting it. _Yet_.

Feyre pushed out her bottom lip, pouting. "I guess, but he’s all the way over in Nevada and the prison only allows longer visits on Christmas Eve."

The senator choked on his drink. " _What_ did you just say?"

Feyre turned to him. "That we can only visit him on Christmas Eve."

"No." He said, his eyes narrowing. "Not that."

"Oh." Feyre gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "Sorry, yeah, my dad’s in prison for fraud. Actually, he’s been there since I was fourteen. It’s why I needed to become a responsible adult so young. I guess, it’s a bit of a heavy topic for our first meeting, but-"

Rhys let out a soft breath, taking a long sip from his wine and squeezing her leg again.

"Well, here goes our plans of inviting your family over to get to know them." Keir said, his sneer more pronounced than ever.

"Oh, my mom would absolutely love to meet you all." Feyre said, blinking quickly. "Actually, she would be beside herself to see this place. She always wanted us to find a rich guy to marry. Although, my sisters might not be so happy that Rhys doesn’t have any brothers for them to snatch up."

Then she eyed a few of his cousins, blatantly checking their hands for any wedding bands.

Keir gritted his teeth so hard, that Feyre could almost hear it from the other end of the table. "I think, one of you is more than enough for this family."

She smiled again. Brightly. "Oh, I’m sorry to say but Rhys wants us to be monogamous. If I wasn’t so in love with him, I wouldn’t mind being shared but-"

"That’s enough." Rhys’ father cut in, his fork clattering on his plate. "If everyone had their fill, we should head back towards the reception area. Our guests from the orchestra are about to arrive."

They all stood. But Rhys pulled Feyre with him, not back into the other room but across the hall and a smaller sitting room.

As soon as he shut the door behind them, he burst into laughter, clutching his side and almost doubling over.

"How do you come up with these things?" He wheezed through his laughter and Feyre was pleased to see a single tear of glee escaping his eyes.

She shrugged. "Someone once told me that lying is easy as long as you start with the truth."

He stopped laughing at once.

Feyre was surprised how fast the amusement slid from his face and suddenly the air between them was full of tension. Not the nice kind that made Feyre’s insides clench, but one that made her want to avoid looking at him.

Immediately, she regretted having said that.

"Wait, so you’re not lying?"

Feyre took a deep breath, listening to the sounds of a doorbell ringing in the background and a few dozen pairs of feet wandering from one room to another.

"I mean, I’m obviously not okay about being shared around by a group of men. And fuck Trump. But when it comes to family drama, I don’t really need to invent much."

"Your dad’s in jail?" Rhys asked, taking a step closer to her. His voice soft, full of concern.

"No. I mean, not anymore." She shrugged. "He went for six months, back when I was fourteen. And although my mom’s dead, I’m pretty sure if she saw this place she would have lost her mind."

She tried to make it sound like a joke, but her voice didn’t cooperate with her and suddenly a strong pair of arms were wrapped around her, pulling her into his warm body.

It felt nice. To be held like that. His broad hands stroked down her back and Feyre breathed in his citrus and sea scent, realising only after a few moments that her throat had closed up and her eyes had filled with unshed tears.

"If you want, we can leave." Rhys said.

Feyre looked up, once again noticing how incredibly handsome he was. "No, it’s fine. I don’t know why I’m being so emotional. Honestly, compared to your family, mine is pretty tame."

Rhys let out a small laugh and squeezed her again. "You’re probably right. But still, let me know if it becomes too much."

She grinned up at him. "Tired of me already? I thought, our love was stronger than that."

He looked at her and it didn’t seem like he wasn’t just seeing her face or her scandalising get up, but saw right into her. It made Feyre’s eyes drop to his lips once more.

"You can kiss me, you know." Rhys teased, repeating her earlier words and Feyre couldn’t help but smile as she got on her tiptoes and pressed their lips together.

Where their first kiss had been filled with a quiet desperation, this one was slow and languid. Maybe because of her majorly oversharing her family drama, or because they had just eaten their body weight in turkey, but as their tongues met, they kissed slowly, almost lazily.

Something that felt like warm honey trickled into her veins, making her head dizzy as she felt him pull her closer to his body and kiss her like she had never been kissed before.

And once more, they stopped not because they wanted to but because someone happened to interrupt them.

"Oh, gross." Layla said, face pinched. "I’m going to have nightmares about this for the rest of my life."

Rhys laughed, softly. He was still so close that his breath fanned over her face and Feyre couldn’t help but join in.

—

Rhys didn’t think he’d ever be sorry to see his sister, but right then he wished she had stayed away for a bit longer. Or forever.

Holding Feyre in his arms and kissing her felt.. right.

He didn’t understand and if he tried to explain it, he’d surely be lost for words. But it felt good, it felt like they were supposed to hold onto each other.

It was crazy to feel like that about a girl he’d known for a couple hours. A girl, who he had found through a craigslist ad and who had spent most of their time together tormenting his family.

Still.

Rhys sighed, letting go of Feyre and noticing the bottle of wine Layla was trying to hide behind her back. "Seriously?" He asked, raising his brows.

Feyre, following his gaze, let out a laugh. It was adorable. The way she closed her eyes, how her nose scrunched up and she snorted softly as she held onto her stomach.

"Oh, come on, Rhys." Layla pouted. "You’re the last person who should scold me today." She used her free hand to point between them. "I think at this point, dad wouldn’t even be mad about me getting drunk. And I’m sixteen, it’s not like I haven’t had a drink before."

Rhys pursed his lips, but then sighed.

Feyre let out another soft giggle, whispering. "She’s kind of right. You brought a stripper home, I don’t think it would be the biggest scandal if she got a little tipsy."

Rhys shook his head, groaning softly.

Just then, Mor stumbled into the room, taking note of the smiles on Layla and Feyre’s faces and Rhys’ exasperation.

"Do I want to know what’s going on in here?" She asked and Rhys wondered if his face was once again smeared with bright red lipstick.

Feyre licking her lips and grinning up at him was answer enough.

"The concert is about to start." Mor said. "You should get yourself sorted out, Rhys. Unless, this is a new look you’re trying out."

Layla snorted, trying to hide it behind a cough but Rhys pointed a finger at her in warning. "I’ve got my eyes on you. No more wine."

She gave him an innocent smile. The one that had convinced him to do many things when they had been younger.

But Feyre took his hand, tugging him behind her. "C’mon, hotshot, we need to fix your make up."

Rhys stopped her from going back through the door they had come through. Instead, he motioned for the door on the other side. "Let’s go that way."

"Rhys!" Layla called out, already having guessed where he was going.

He gave her a quick wink, pointing at the bottle and shaking his finger. A nd then he lead Feyre towards the back of the house and up the slightly smaller staircase, into the second floor.

Feyre let out a soft whistle as she looked down the long hall lined with doors. "What kind of palace is this?"

He snorted, opening the second door on the left and entering the bathroom.

As Rhys washed his face, rubbing at the lipstick stains, he briefly thought that he could get used to this. Kissing Feyre and then, sneaking away with her. Immediately he chided himself for thinking like this.

But Feyre was looking at him, something like mischievous delight in her face. "Say, Rhys. We don’t happen to be near your childhood bedroom, are we?"

He sighed in defeat, nodding. "It’s two doors down."

Feyre gave him a brilliant smile, before she skipped out of the bathroom and he listened to the sound of her gleeful gasp as she opened the door to a room that resembled a time capsule to a time when he thought red cars were the best thing in the whole wide world.

"Oh, my god." Feyre breathed, showing back up at the door. "You know, if I was really your stripper girlfriend, I would totally beg you to fuck me in that toy car bed."

Rhys choked on thin air, unable to stop his mind from going there. Or his eyes from sliding down her body.

Feyre raised a brow, a feline smirk playing on her face. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Rhys asked, surprised to find his voice had turned into a soft purr.

"Like you’re thinking about fucking me in a toy car bed."

He licked his lips and acting bolder than he felt, said, "Don’t tell me, you aren’t thinking about it."

Feyre swallowed. "Oh, I am."

Just then, a few notes echoed from downstairs and Rhys was suddenly reminded that his whole extended family was downstairs. And that he had just been about to ask his pretend girlfriend that he had found through craigslist if she wanted to have sex in his childhood bedroom.

Shit.


End file.
